SOMEDAY
by Alura96
Summary: A ficlet about Sam and Sarah's relationship based on Sarah's point of view, and her dreams of what they both could be someday.


**It's been six years since Provenance, and Sarah's still desperately in love with Sam. Will she ever have her 'someday'?**

**Dedicated to Bugzy. Damn you! **

**SOMEDAY **

_Maybe someday  
We'll figure all this out  
Try to put an end to all our doubt  
Try to find a way to make things better now, and  
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud  
We'll be better off somehow  
Someday  
_

Sarah Blake opened her eyes to the warm slivers of sunlightsifting through the lace curtains of her room. Yawning briefly, she swung her legs off the bed and made her way to the bathroom. She barely even registered the face she saw in the mirror. It was a pretty face, oval in shape, smooth peachy skin, high cheekbones, and warm brown eyes. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder, and deeming herself fit to be called presentable, walked down the marble staircase to the hall.

She could hear her father yelling away on the phone even before she saw his face, red, contorted with anger. "Good Morning, Miss Sarah" greeted their butler quietly when he saw her. "Good Morning, Mr. Devlin" she smiled back cheerily, "and how's your Lily today?" The normally sombre man's face lit up at the mention of his grand daughter. "She's fine, Miss Sarah. Recovering from the Appendix operation beautifully." "That's great" Sarah smiled once more, and took her place at the ornately carved dining table, that in her opinion, was too grand to feel comfortable eating upon.

"Cookie, could you get me some breakfast?" she called politely. The broad dark face of the African American Cookie appeared from behind a huge tureen she was carrying. Cookie was the oldest servant of the Blakes, and she handled most of the housework efficiently. "Hyah yo go, Miss Sarah" she said in her traditional Negro oriented English. Mr. Blake thought it was uncultured, and frowned upon it, but Sarah loved it. Her mother had, too, when she was alive.

Cookie noticed Sarah looking downcast. "Whut my chile sad abott?" she asked, concerned. "Nothing" Sarah brushed it off with a carefree smile. "Mm. This bacon smells delicious." This inspired Cookie to launch into a long description of the day's breakfast, and Sarah listened, until her father came storming into the dining room and destroyed any semblance of peace. He had apparently just gotten off the phone, and still looked terribly angry. "Devlin!" he thundered. "Tell Tom to get out my car immediately. Are my shoes polished?" "But Sir, I thought you were playing golf today..." "Why do you think so much?" shouted Mr. Blake. Sarah flinched. "I-I'll see to the shoes at once, Sir" stammered poor Mr. Devlin and scurried off.

"Cookie, where's my breakfast?" he snapped. "Goodness me, hurry up! Pack me a lunch to take later. I haven't the time to eat now." "Yessuh" muttered Cookie, and waddled away to pack Mr. Blake's lunch. He then turned irritated eyes on Sarah, who gave him her sweetest smile, hoping to calm him down. "Hurry up and eat" he snapped at her. "Haven't you got to go to the auction house today?" And just like that, he left. "Good morning to you too, Dad" whispered Sarah bitterly.

Sarah didn't feel like going to the auction house, especially not today. She deliberated for a moment, and then dialled the number of Mr. Cullen, the manager of the Blake Auction house. He picked up on the first ring, his voice as pleasant as always. "Hello?" "Mr. Cullen? I wanted to ask you: Is it all right if I don't come to the auction house today?" She bit her lip. "Yes, quite all right" said Mr. Cullen. "You've been working diligently for ages, Sarah. You deserve a break." "Thanks, Mr Cullen" said Sarah and hung up.

But now that she'd excused herself from work, Sarah realized that she had nothing to do but sit and dwell on the significance of the date. Wandering inside, she tried to devote herself to a variety of tasks: she attempted to help Will, the gardener in trimming the bushes, tried learning new recipes from Cookie, tried watching a movie- nothing worked. Through it all, her mind kept wandering back to the day, six years ago, when she'd met Sam Winchester for the first time.

She remembered every moment of those four days she'd known him. She remembered with an aching heart his smile, his hazel eyes, his brown hair that fell messily over his eyes every time he brushed it away. She remembered with tear filled eyes the moments their eyes met, that understanding between kindred souls, the desire for love, for acceptance, the first time he touched her, how he kissed her, with so much need, such passion, it made her head spin.

She also remembered how unusual Sam had been, in the true sense of the word. He and his brother Dean were hunters. Not the kind that hunted geese or fowls either, but rather eliminated monsters in the supernatural dimension: werewolves, banshees, witches, the likes. They had come to New York to solve a case which involved a painting that killed its owners. This painting had been sold by Sarah's father, and she requested to help the Winchesters solve the case. One thing led to another, and Sarah valued the respect she saw for her in Sam's eyes when trembling with fear, but steeling her nerves, she helped him finish off the ghost girl who'd been escaping the painting and killing innocent people.

Sarah spent four days, knowing Sam, working with him, talking to him... loving him, and then he was gone. And the part which stabbed Sarah over and over again like a rusted knife, was the promise Sam had made just moments before leaving. He'd kissed her, and said, "I'll come back. Someday, I promise, I'll come back."

But he hadn't. Sarah was a strong girl, who'd suffered enough in life, especially after her mother's death nearly seven years ago, but she hadn't been able to help doubting the truth in Sam's words when years passed and he did not come, did not call, did not text, nothing.

Many nights, Sarah had woken drenched in cold sweat, one name on her lips: Sam. And only she and Cookie knew about the night she'd dreamt that awful dream. She'd seen Sam standing in a cemetery, but somehow she knew it wasn't Sam, the cold, cruel glint in his eyes, the hollow voice, her heart said, belonged to... Lucifer. And when Sam/Lucifer started raining death blows on Dean, Sarah woke up screaming.

Cookie had come running up, and held her in her arms till she stopped crying. "It wus jess a dream, lamb" Cookie had assured Sarah again and again. "Jess a dream." And Sarah knew that it couldn't be real, dreams did _not_ come true, but something told her it was all true, it was happening somewhere far way in the world.

She'd trying contacting Sam, and Dean too, but to no avail. Their numbers did not work any longer. She'd tried, in desperation, numerous states, asked the operators to find Dean or Sam Winchester for her, but everywhere her search came up empty.

Pondering again over the day's importance in her life, Sarah walked slowly to the balcony of her room. She pushed open the large oak doors, and sunlight, bright and golden washed over her. She felt warmth spreading through her frozen veins, and the gentle wind caressing her face with soothing hands similar to her mother's. Everywhere she looked, there was colour. The robin with its red and blue chest, the large elm tree across the street, fuchsia, lilac, gold, amber, cerulean flowers blooming in the garden... Sarah felt her spirits lifting.

Yes, it was true that Sam had not contacted her...yet. But she knew that if he'd died, she'd have known it. Somehow, something would have told Sarah if he was dead now, she was certain. Who was she to decide if he'd forgotten her, if he'd forgotten his promise? Did she not have faith in the love she had for Sam?

Sarah knew there was hope. There had always been hope. Only six years had passed, six more could pass for all she cared: she would wait. Sarah was willing to wait a lifetime, if it meant that she could keep hoping, praying that somehow, someday Sam would return for her, someday he'd look into her eyes and kiss her again, someday they'd meet again, and never be apart again.

Somewhere, someday, maybe they'd have another chance, a shot at life together, just him and her and their love, and they'd need nothing else.

Sometime, someday, she'd hear the purr of the Impala break through the mundane silence of her life, and she'd look out the window to see Sam striding up the path to her house...

Someday, maybe they'd be reunited, maybe they'd have a future together. Sarah couldn't stop hoping that someday, Sam would be beside her again.

_Maybe someday  
We'll figure all this out  
Try to put an end to all our doubt  
Try to find a way to make things better now, and  
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud  
We'll be better off somehow  
Someday  
_


End file.
